The Kuryakin Stratagem
by JantoJones
Summary: Illya is on light duty, and offers his help to other departments within HQ.
1. The Kuryakin Stratagem

Illya Kuryakin was only three days into three weeks of light duties and, in the words of his partner, he was slowly going nuts. By rights, and by his doctor's instructions, he should have been spending those weeks on medical leave. However, Illya Kuryakin was not a man who embraced idleness easily, and had badgered Dr Barrie enough to get him to relent and allow light duties.

Having been a guest of Thrush for over a week, during which he endured many of their physical and psychological persuasion techniques, Illya was wise enough to know he wasn't yet fit enough for the field. Although he hadn't received any long-term injuries, and still needed time to recover properly, Illya had managed to argue his way out of medical earlier than her should. This, and his request for light duty, had been permitted only on the understanding he would take things easy.

For the first day, Illya had taken the opportunity to catch up on his and Napoleon's paperwork. Somewhat surprisingly though, there hadn't been anywhere near as much as he'd expected. Solo had apparently done it all while his partner had been laid up in medical.

On the second day, Illya opted to see what was happening in the labs. He had no experiments or research of his own going on, but was sure his assistance would be welcomed by others. Illya was popular among the staff of R&D as, unlike other Section 2 agents, he had studied science and had even gained a PhD. His visit to the labs, however, yielded nothing. Everyone claimed to on top of everything, (which was completely unknown in any lab, anywhere,) and so his help wasn't required. Somewhat disconsolately, he busied himself tidying up the tiny room which had been allocated as his personal lab. The problem was, he was a naturally tidy person so, even stretching it out, it only took all of ten minutes.

Illya reluctantly left the labs, deciding to try his luck in the translations department. He was well versed in several languages, and there was always something waiting which there hadn't yet been time for. Except, this time, there wasn't. He was informed that there was absolutely nothing which needed translating. He was then thanked for his offer, but was sent on his way fairly quickly.

Illya was beginning to feel a little unwanted, but felt certain he would be welcomed in Communications. It was an exceptionally busy department, which was often understaffed and overworked. There was bound to be something he could help with.

He was wrong.

His next port of call was the secretarial pool. They always had a backlog and, as he had assisted them during previous stints of light duty, Illya knew they would soon have him working. Yet, once again, he was knocked back. He was beginning to suspect that there was some sort of conspiracy afoot, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Still, there were plenty of other places he could offer his services.

After trying the archives, the armoury, security, and even Del Floria's, Illya finally admitted defeat, and stalked off back to his office. There he found Napoleon reading through a mission file. Illya related his tale of woe, and asked if his partner if he knew of anything in the building he could be doing.

"Are you up for a night shift?" Napoleon had asked. "I need someone to monitor a possible Thrush overnight. We have cameras set up in his hotel but no-one is free to watch him."

Illya readily agreed.

That had been last night. Illya had stationed himself at a monitor, and readied himself to note down everything the man did and said. It turned out to be exceptionally little. When Illya had begun watching, the man was emerging from the shower, whereupon he read a book for two hours, before settling down to sleep. He didn't wake again until Illya was halfway through the breakfast which had been brought to him.

At 8:30, Napoleon arrived for his partner's report. Illya didn't reply immediately. Instead he picked up his pen, and wrote three words on a piece of paper.

"I surrender," he stated, thrusting the paper at Solo. "I am going home, and will return in two and a half weeks."

Solo watched as the Russian walked out, and then laughed at the words he'd written.

NOTHING TO REPORT

Napoleon flicked a switch on the communications panel and the man on the screen pulled a communicator pen from his pocket.

"Telford," he said.

"You can stand down, Charlie," Solo told him. "He's taken the hint."

"It's about time. I'm itching to get this disguise off. See you back at HQ."

Napoleon cut the link and headed off to go to Mr Waverly's office. He called into medical on the way and invited Dr Barrie to join him.

"The plan worked," he announced, once they were seated at the round conference table. "Everybody did a fantastic job. He was turned away from every department he went to, and last night's surveillance was his final straw."

"Splendid work, gentlemen," Waverly congratulated. "It was a fine scheme. However, I would not wish to be in the shoes of either of you should Mr Kuryakin discover your deception."

"I can handle him," Napoleon replied with a shrug, though there was a slight flicker of fear in his eyes. "He'll get over it . . . eventually."

"All that matters," Dr Barrie stated. "Is that Illya Kuryakin is finally going follow my orders, and take the medical leave he is due to."


	2. A Coming Storm

Every single person in HQ was on edge. Even Mr Waverly was feeling trepidatious.

Within the hour they would be faced with the wrath of an exceptionally dangerous and vengeful man. For all the training they had been given, and the many crises they had dealt with in the past, the trouble which was coming was the thing they feared most of all.

Lots had even been drawn to decide who would be manning reception when all Hell broke loose.

Today was the day Illya Kuryakin was returning to work, and he'd discovered the plot to enforce his medical leave.


	3. Confrontation

Bringing his car to a stop outside of Del Floria's, Napoleon Solo took a few deep breaths. It had been a week since Illya had learned of the plan to persuade him to take his full medical leave, and Solo hadn't heard from him since. His partner was due back today and Napoleon was more than a little worried. He wasn't afraid of Illya, as such, but he did have a healthy respect for his right hook.

Finally getting out of the car, he headed into the building. As he entered he raised his eyebrows in silent question. The elderly tailor, understanding what was being asked, merely nodded his reply. Once in reception he greeted Monica, as he leant over for his badge.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"I just hope I'm off-duty if he has to come back out this way," she told him.

Knowing that he had to bite the bullet, and get the confrontation over with sooner rather than later, Napoleon went in search of his partner. This was easier said than done. After half an hour of searching someone was finally able to tell him that he'd seen Illya heading for the Old Man's office. After a brief exchange with Lisa Rogers to ask if it was safe to go in, Napoleon adopted his best CEA demeanour and entered the office.

"Are you denying my request, Sir?" he heard Illya ask.

"Ah, Mr Solo," Waverly said, waving Napoleon in. "Please take a seat. I have to inform you that Mr Kuryakin has requested a transfer."

"To another section?"

"To another country," the chief explained. "He feels that he is no longer able to work here, having lost the respect of his colleagues."

"What are you talking about, Illya?"

The Russian didn't reply, choosing instead to glare at his 'friend'. Napoleon had grown immune to the ice which could often be seen in Illya's eyes, but this time he had to try hard not to shiver. The usual bright blue eyes had transformed to steel grey, and Napoleon could detect no warmth in them at all. Across the table, Mr Waverly coughed for attention.

"I will defer consideration of your request for the moment," he said, standing up. "In the meantime, I am giving you both the use of this office to discuss matters. I will be gone for an hour."

Without waiting for either man to answer, Waverly left. Once outside he told Lisa not to allow anyone access until he returned.

Inside, Napoleon and Illya stared at one another.

"It was for your own good," Napoleon stated eventually.

"Humiliating me was for my own good?"

"I'm sorry if that is how you feel, but no-one was trying to humiliate you."

"I can accept Dr Barrie's part in this. He was attempting to get me to take his advice. I can even accept Waverly's part. He was acting on what his chief medical officer was telling him. But you. . .you. . .you betrayed my trust."

"How do you figure that?"

"From the age of eight, my life has been controlled," Illya told him, as he stood up and strode to the window. "Working and living here has given me a great deal of personal freedom, but I am still controlled by the needs of U.N.C.L.E."

His shoulders slumped, and his entire body language was that of dejection. It was all Napoleon could do not to go over and hug him. He held back though, knowing that it wouldn't be welcomed.

"You are my partner," Illya continued. "But you are also my superior, and the head of my department. As such, you technically have control of me also, but it is something you never do."

He turned back to face Napoleon.

"Outside the parameters of a mission, where your commands are expected to be obeyed, you have never tried to control me. To you, I have always been your equal. However, by orchestrating this scheme, you have done just that."

He turned back to the window and fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was filled with both anger and sorrow.

"This alone is bad enough, but to involve everyone else in the building, you have reduced me. How can people respect my position when they have been part of something designed to trick me?"

Napoleon ran his hand through his hair, before going over to pour himself a drink. He'd been an absolute fool. His offer to pour Illya a drink was rejected, so he downed his own and poured another.

"Not one single person was trying to trick you," he stated emphatically. "Believe it or not, it was done out of respect for you. Not your position, but you! Look at me Illya."

It took a few seconds, but the Russian eventually conceded, folding his arms in defiance and defence.

"You are a stubborn son of a bitch at times," Napoleon told him. "And you generally don't take care of yourself as well as you should."

Illya opened his mouth to speak, but Solo held up a hand to silence him.

"I know it comes from a long ingrained sense of duty, which was instilled many years before you joined the Command, but you need to remember that to be an effective agent, you need to be at your best."

There was a flicker in the blond's gaze, which few would have noticed, but onto to which Napoleon grabbed.

"How much time do you spend in the gym?" he asked.

Illya shrugged. He couldn't really answer because it differed every week.

"However, long it is, you do it for two reasons," Napoleon stated. "One, to keep yourself fighting fit, and two, to work off the amount of food you eat. You do it because you know it has to be done. Otherwise, you will lose your edge."

The Russian said nothing, but sat back down. Napoleon took this as a sign he was starting to get somewhere.

"The doc doesn't prescribe medical leave just to annoy you," he said, sitting down in the seat next to Illya. "He has his reasons, which happen to be the same reasons you spend time in the gym. It's to make sure you take the time to get yourself back to your peak."

He looked into Illya's eyes and could finally see a thaw. The blue was returning, and his expression was softening.

"I can't deny we probably went about things the wrong way," he went on. "But no-one was tricking you, no-one was humiliating you, and no-one will have any less respect for you. I'll however understand if you still want to break our partnership, though I won't be happy about it."

A silence descended once again, during which Napoleon went and poured another drink. He poured one for Illya, and this time it was accepted.

"I am sorry," Illya said quietly. "I was wrong to say you betrayed my trust. I was feeling hurt, and I have spent the week building up to an argument. Can you forgive me?"

Napoleon laughed, earning a puzzled look from the other man.

"You don't have anything to apologise for," he stated. "But I do. Can _you _forgive _me_?"

Illya held up his drink to propose a toast.

"How about we forgive each other, and say no more about it? To you, my friend."

"And to you, Tovarisch."


End file.
